A Good Man Named Michael Flisk


There are not enough words in the English language to describe a good man. Really describe him. A front page in the newspaper is not enough. A few minutes on a newscast is not enough. Saying a good man was a good man is not enough.
Michael Flisk, the Chicago police officer who was laid to rest yesterday Holy Sepulcher Cemetery, was a good man.
Actually, he was better than good. He was the best.
Growing up on Chicago's South Side in Beverly, I got a chance to know the Flisk family, primarily through Michael's cousin, Steve. Steve and I went to Christ the King Grammar School together and I would come over after school to help him raid the Flisk family kitchen for pop tarts. Over the years, I've found myself thinking what a great family the Flisk family are and now the whole city of Chicago knows it.
But Michael Flisk was not just Chicago's Finest - he was the World's Finest. He loved being a police officer. It was what he was born to do. And he died doing what he loved.
Michael loved his family, his friends, and he loved life. Life for what it could be and for what it is.  He will be greatly missed.
Good men always are.

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